


Seared into your flesh

by HistoireEternelle



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Andrés is a morron, Dreams, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Martin needs a hug, Past Lives, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts, Tatiana is the best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25858900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HistoireEternelle/pseuds/HistoireEternelle
Summary: As the words left his mouth, he felt it. The searing pain of the Soulmark being branded into his skin.On the other side of the room, Andrés stood frozen on the spot, his right hand gripping his left forearm.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote, minor Andrés/Tatiana
Comments: 22
Kudos: 87





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much Cassy for your time. You're the best beta I could have wished for.

The kiss broke him. 

Martín hadn’t been prepared for Andrés to respond so passionately — or at all — to his bold desperate move. It was the first time since the day they met that Andrés had actually addressed the elephant in the room. Martín had been so certain Andrés knew about his feelings, but after what happened, he wasn’t sure anymore. Andrés’ reaction when Martín got up, the uncharacteristic hesitation in his voice and posture for a split second before his cocky mask slid back in place, were the only clues that maybe he wasn’t as confident as he was pretending to be. 

And for once, Martín took advantage of the situation. He had realized the moment Andrés acknowledged what had been left unsaid for years that his friend was leaving. Martín was about to lose who he was sure deep inside was his Soulmate and he couldn’t let him go without at least a taste of his lips. He was desperate, the emotional rollercoaster he went through with each word leaving Andrés’ lips being enough to boost his courage. He left his heart skip a beat when the love confession rang into the heavy atmosphere of the room, the words so unexpected they almost sent him to his knees. The term ‘Soulmate’ to define their relationship rolling from Andrés’ tongue was the last straw for Martín. If he was about to lose the love of his life, there was no need to be scared anymore.

He crossed the distance between them, tuning out the bullshit Andrés was spewing about mitochondria, his heart beating furiously against his ribs, his sweaty hands imperceptibly shaking with the adrenaline coursing through his veins, his façade of confidence almost breaking when his fingertips caressed Andrés’ face in a movement he had dreamt of for years. Andrés didn’t move at the gesture, the challenge clear in his gaze when Martín looked into his eyes. Not one to back off when faced with such a provocation, Martín took the plunge and kissed him. 

It felt like a dream come true. After so many years spent imagining how it would feel to kiss Andrés, the maelstrom of emotion warring inside his body was too much. The taste of the whisky Andrés must have drunk before joining him in the chapel still lingering on his tongue sent Martín’s head spinning. The muscles in his belly contracted at the sudden rush of heat coursing through his veins. He couldn’t believe it was actually happening but the sensations were too real for it to be a dream. 

When they finally parted the small smile on Andrés’ lips hit him like an insult. It seemed to proclaim that Andrés had been right, that he didn’t feel any desire for him, but it was already too late, Martín was addicted to Andrés’ lips, to the taste of him and kept stealing little kisses. Andrés allowed it until… Until something seemed to snap in Andrés. 

Martín saw the change in his gaze, the sight of the sudden darkening of his eyes shook him to the core. Something was about to happen and he couldn't decipher the warring emotions coursing through his body. Fear? Maybe. Desire? Undoubtedly. Arousal? That predatory gleam in Andrés’ eyes sent shivers up and down his spine, goosebumps spreading on his skin. 

His chest tightened with anticipation, his breaths short. He didn’t know what to expect so when Andrés took that first step forward his eyes never leaving Martín’s, he had no other choices but to back away until his back collided with the cold stonewall of the chapel, finding himself suddenly trapped, Andrés’ fingers around his neck. He didn’t even have time to panic at what could happen before Andrés was devouring him. His heart soared at how passionate the other man was, at the little moans leaving his throat and the hope of that kiss being the beginning of something else. 

Something more. 

He felt the pressure of Andrés’ body against his, the way his fingers gripped at his face, angling his head so he could deepen the kiss even more. It was the moment Martín became absolutely  _ certain _ they truly were Soulmates.

They had talked about it at school when he was younger. The warmth spreading in your chest, the irresistible pull of the Soulmate bond, the strange sensation in your ears as if air itself was vibrating with the possibilities spinning around the couple, the tingling where skin met skin. The premise of the Soulmate bond just waiting for you to say the words it needed to form and become a reality. 

The moment the kiss broke, the finality of the gesture was like a blow to Martín’s chest. He tried to follow Andrés’ mouth, stealing more kisses from his lips, but Andrés’ hand on his cheek held him in place. Martín's heart broke into a million tiny pieces at the sudden rejection, each sharper than the previous, embedding themselves into his flesh and tearing it apart. He knew what was coming next and the softness in Andrés’ eyes, his thumb drying the tears Martín couldn’t hold back anymore, didn’t help soften the blow. He wanted to lean into the touch, to bask into the man’s tenderness but too soon Andrés took a step back, his fingers grazing Martín’s cheek as a lover’s caress until nothing was left of the moment they had shared but a memory. He knew Andrés was talking but the pain in his chest was too overwhelming for him to focus on anything else. 

When Andrés started to put on his coat, Martín finally found his voice and lashed at the only thing that made sense to deal with the pain: Sergio was the culprit, it was  _ his _ fault Andrés was leaving him behind, if he hadn’t opened his big mouth, nothing would have happened and the status quo would have been preserved. But no, of course that fucker had to meddle and destroy the relationship they had built over the years. 

When even his rancour at Sergio didn’t prompt any reaction from Andrés, Martín changed strategies. After all, if he was in love with Andrés, Andrés was in love with the plan.

“ _ Yo te propuse fundir oro juntos _ ,” Martín said in his broken, sobbing voice. 

As the words left his mouth, he felt it. The searing pain of the Soulmark being branded into his skin. 

On the other side of the room, Andrés stood frozen on the spot, his right hand gripping his left forearm. Martín could barely believe what had just happened but he still fumbled with the sleeve of his oversized shirt to push it up. He had to see it, he had to make sure it wasn’t a dream. What he saw wasn’t exactly what he had been expecting and he frowned at the sight, confused. 

The words on his arm were perfectly clear “ _ Yo te propuse _ ” was written in black elegant cursive on the inside of his right forearm. Which was precisely the problem. Soulmarks were usually written in a generic font, everybody’s Mark looking the same, except…

Except…

Martín jerked his head up, eyes wide and saw Andrés hadn’t moved. With his back to him, the man seemed to refuse to acknowledge the new situation except for his hand still gripping his arm and the visible tension in his shoulders. Martín knew the other man didn’t like to lose control and having the Soulmate bond forged when you weren’t the one to say the words was always said to be a shock. But their situation was even more complicated. Andrés had been about to leave him forever — had actually left him — but now everything had changed, tables had been turned and Martín had the upper hand. 

And there was the matter of the Mark itself to add to the confusion of their case.

They had barely touched the subject in their mandatory Soulmate class at school. It was so rare it had only been mentioned a few times over the years they had spent studying Soulmarks. If Martín recalled correctly, having a Soulmark written in the other’s handwriting — because, yes, the elegant cursive his arm was marked with was Andrés’ handwriting, Martín could have recognized it anywhere — meant it wasn’t the first time the Soulmate bond had been forged between them. It meant you had been Soulmates at least once in another life. It was so rare nowadays that it had almost become a legend. 

A movement on the other side of the room took Martín out of his musings, his eyes leaving the hypnotic motion of his own fingertips caressing the Mark softly. He looked up and saw Andrés disappear down the corridor. 

He had left. 

Martín couldn’t believe that asshole had left after what just happened. He hadn’t even checked the Mark or he would have had questions, Martín knew. Feeling the shards of his heart embed themselves even more profoundly into his flesh with each step Andrés took away from him, Martín slid down the wall and buried his face into his knees, finally letting the sobs out. Andrés could still probably hear him, but he didn’t care. It was the confirmation of what he had known deep inside to be true since the moment he had met Andrés and yet his newly Marked Soulmate had left without a word. 

He had every right to be pathetic right now, feeling both angry and hopeful at the same time. Angry at how Andrés had reacted to the change in their dynamic, at the coward he had been by leaving. Still, he couldn’t help but hope he would come back. After all, he had a date with his wife — oh God, his Soulmate was already married — and Andrés had always been a man of his words. He would go to the restaurant, meet with Tatiana, explain the situation and come back. 

Martín would be waiting for him. 

* * *

The burning feeling in his arm didn’t lessen, his clenched fist shaking slightly in anger at his side as Andrés prowled down the monastery’s dimly lit corridors . 

Martín had said variations of those same words countless of times before. Why? Why on Earth would that specific sentence be the significant one in their relationship. And, more importantly, why now? 

He had finally decided to follow Sergio’s advice and realized how blind he had been when it came to the plan of robbing _ El Banco de España.  _ Even if Martín — his beautiful, broken Martín — was the most brilliant engineer he had ever met in his life, Andrés knew that no matter how prepared they thought to be, the plan was doomed. Too many variables were unknown and unpredictable for the heist to be feasible. 

Sergio had been right, he had been so in love with the idea of the robbery that he hadn’t seen the flaws in the plan. And Martín had been in love with him. 

His Soulmate. 

He had almost been joking when he had said they were Soulmates. They had been friends for years, as close as humanly possible without breaching that last barrier. But actual Soulmates? No. Impossible. Andrés had used the word as a term of endearment to illustrate how precious Martín was to him but never had he thought it could be a possibility. After so many years knowing each other, the chances of being Soulmates were close to none. 

As unlikely as it had been, here he was, a burning Mark on his arm and Martín’s sobs echoing in his mind. He could still taste him on his lips, the heat of his tongue against his, fingers pulling the hair at the base of his skull, the way their bodies had felt pressed together. Tears pricked at Andrés’ eyes at how desperate Martín had looked just before he turned away. He didn’t dare to look at the Mark, afraid it would make it real.

Of course he loved Martín. How could he not? The man had been his only constant through the years, he had been here for him every time a new wife would leave him after finding her actual Soulmate. Soulmate who wasn’t Andrés. 

But he didn’t need a Soulmate. Several nonbonded couples around the world lived happily and contrary to what every scholar would want you to believe, Soulmate bonds weren’t definitive. These special couples broke up every day, but no one talked about it. It was shameful and went against the government propaganda surrounding Soulmates. 

He had seen it though, had seen the results of being left by your one and only Soulmate. But he had also learned how to prevent the inevitable death that break would lead to. 

After Sergio had told him about Martín’s feelings, he had observed the man, not sure his brother had been right. He had soon realized how blind he had been for the love Martín’s felt was clearly written in every line of his face and Andrés had been afraid at the realization. 

Everybody who had ever proclaimed to love him had left him and he didn’t want to take the risk of Martín leaving him. He wasn’t sure he could survive it, so he had decided to cut ties with him before having to see him walk away. It had hurt like hell but it would have been even worse to have Martín turn on him, he was sure. Fighting the tears he had felt prick at the corner of his eyes at the heartbreaking sight of Martín’s tear stricken face had been terribly hard, though he didn’t have a choice but to take the step that broke the contact between them after sharing that passionate kiss. 

It was for the best. The Soulmate bond was a curse, not a blessing. And he would not subject himself to the painful rejection he was sure would follow if he stayed with Martín. He had faith in his friend, but experience told him that nothing was permanent, not even a Soulmate bond. Martín would eventually leave him, no matter what was written on their skin. 

His arm was killing him though. He could feel the words pulsating with each heartbeat, calling for him to see them, to accept the bond. He could feel the heat radiating from his left forearm up to his shoulder and seeping slowly down his chest. He clenched his jaws at the wave of pain rippling through his body, sweat beading at his brow. His grip around the steering wheel was almost painful in its intensity, his knuckles white around the dark leather, keeping his hands from shaking. He could already feel the pull of the bond trying to push him, telling him to turn around and get back to Martín, but he couldn’t. 

He had to meet with his new bride, act as if nothing had happened. 

He would stick with his plan no matter what. He would go and join Tatiana. They would have a lovely dinner and then, he would take her to bed and make love to her. Some stupid words on his arm wouldn’t rule his life. He had taken a decision earlier tonight and he would stick with it. With his wife, he would follow Sergio in Spain and the three of them would study the potential team his brother was trying to put together for the Mint heist. He would forget about Martín. 

Maybe he was being somewhat irrational. Martín had been part of his life for so long it was impossible to actually forget him, but his stubbornness at living his life as he had chosen was stronger than any Mark. 

What was a little pain against the freedom of choosing how to live your life and with whom you chose to share it?

He had always hated how definitive the teachers had made the Soulmate bond. Even as a young boy, he had thought that the idea of some words defining the rest of your life was stupid. He wouldn’t abide by them, he would make his own life with the woman he had chosen and prove once and for all that no, the Soulmate bond was  _ not _ as binding as the scholars made it sound to be. 

Clenching his jaws, he parked his car and walked to the restaurant. He was late and knew Tatiana had been waiting for him. Another thing to add to the anger he felt for that stupid Mark on his arm. He rubbed absentmindedly at the spot, trying to soothe the burn but nothing was working. He hoped that seeing Tatiana would help somewhat. 

It was something he had learnt from his mom: being loved by someone who wasn’t your Soulmate helped, even when you were already bonded with someone else. So he hoped Tatiana’s love for him would be enough to block the urge to drive back to Martín and take him in his arms and never let him go. 

Andrés took a deep breath, put his mask back in place and walked into the restaurant. His eyes spotted his lovely wife almost immediately and the moment their eyes connected, he felt the heat in his chest recede. 

She did love him, then. 

If he managed to hide the truth, maybe they could work and he would never have to subjugate himself to the ignominy of seeing his own body betray him and die the painful death of the rejected Soulmate. The thought of sentencing Martín to the same fate crossed his mind but he pushed it away. Martín had actually studied Soulmarks and knew how to prevent the consequences of having your Soulmate not returning your feelings. 

He would find a lover and be happy without Andrés by his side. It was for the best. A grimace contorted his lips over his clenched jaw when Andrés felt a wave of jealousy rush through his body at the thought of someone else’s hands on Martín’s body, and he had to grab the nearest chair to stay up when his knees buckled under his weight at the intensity of the feeling. But as he had done earlier, he pushed the feeling away, focusing on a now frowning Tatiana. Of course she had seen his moment of weakness.

“What happened?” she asked as soon as he reached their table, grabbing his arm to help him to his chair.

He hissed at the contact. She inadvertently had touched the Mark and the bond was rebelling against the foreign contact, even through his clothes. That was new.

“Andrés, what’s going on?” she asked, obviously worried for him. “Did something happen with Martín? Is he ok?”

Andrés sighed, she was way too perspicace for him to hide what occurred back at the monastery. She didn’t deserve to find herself involved in such a situation, but he hoped she would be compassionate enough to help him out. He didn’t know how he would manage to survive if she decided he was a jerk and left him. But it was a risk he didn’t have any other choice but to take.

“Something happened, yes,” he started cautiously, rubbing absentmindedly at his arm. He saw Tatiana’s eyes follow his movement, the confusion on her face even more pronounced. “And no, Martín is most certainly not ok right now, but he will be,” he added, waiting for her to connect the dots.

He saw the moment she reached the right conclusion, her eyes darting from his arm to his face, her mouth agape before she covered it with her trembling fingers, tears filling her eyes.

“Show me!” she ordered.

“Not here,” he replied, shaking his head. He hadn’t seen it yet and didn’t want to make a scene in the middle of the restaurant. 

“What the hell are you doing here, Andrés? Why are you not with him?” she murmured, anger, shock and incomprehension mixing in her voice. “I would have understood if you didn’t show up,” she reassured him. 

“You know how I feel about Soulmates bonds. I will not let it rule my life,” his tone was stern and cold and Tatiana leaned against the back of the chair, as if she was afraid of him and trying to put some distance between them. 

“But it’s  _ Martín _ , Andrés. He’s been in love with you for years. He would never hurt you!” she tried to convince him.

“Everybody leaves eventually. It was best to cut ties before that happened.” His voice cut through the silence as final and sharp as a guillotine blade. 

“What have you done?” He could actually hear the fear in her voice and he felt another wave of anger at the realization that she was scared for Martín, not him. 

“Let’s go home,” he said instead of replying. A restaurant was not the place to have that conversation, and if she was to stay with him, Tatiana deserved an explanation. 

It took him the time to reach the car to realize that home was where Martín was at the moment and going back to the monastery was not an option. He had to find somewhere else to go. Tatiana didn’t say a single word when he took the opposite road from the one that would take them to the old building. She stayed silent when he parked in front of one of the best hotels in Florence and followed him inside. They didn’t have any change of clothes, nothing but what they were wearing and he wasn’t planning on ever going back to get his belongings. They would have to buy everything again but, even if he felt like a coward deep inside, he knew he didn’t have the strength to face Martín ever again.

“Can I see it now?” Tatiana said when the door of their room closed behind them. 

Andrés didn’t reply. He didn’t know if he was ready to see it himself, even less show it to somebody else. It felt private, a secret he wanted to keep to himself, but he also knew that if he wanted Tatiana to stay, he would have to share that part of himself with her. She was his wife, she deserved to have her questions answered. He walked to the small well furnished bar and poured a glass of whisky. 

He raised his eyebrow at the woman still waiting for his answer, asking silently if she wanted one. He capped the bottle when she shook her head no and went to sit on the couch in the middle of the room. She joined him silently and waited patiently until he found the courage to remove his jacket with trembling fingers.

“May I?” she breathed when he fumbled with his cufflinks, the shaking in his hands making it difficult to take them off. 

He was out of his mind scared by what he was about to see. He could feel the weight pressing on his chest as tendrils of fear were tying themselves around his heart. He felt hot and cold at the same time, his ribcage refusing to expand and let him take a full breath. 

After growing up seeing how painful the Soulmate bond was for his mom, he had vowed to never let it happen for him, he had vowed to never find his own Soulmate. But fate had a twisted sense of humor and here he was, bound to his best friend, the man he loved most after his baby brother. He felt like crying again when Tatiana finally pushed his sleeve up. He didn’t dare to look. But he couldn’t stop himself when he heard her gasp.

“Oh my god, Andrés,” she breathed, her hand going to her lips in shock. 

When his eyes stumbled upon the Mark on his arm, Andrés felt his heart skip a beat. Here it was, the actual proof of the Soulmate bond.  _ “fundir oro juntos” _ was written on the inside of his right forearm in the unmistakable spidery scrawl that was Martín’s handwriting. 

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck!” 

He left the couch just before Tatiana’s fingers could touch the Mark, his own hand covering the fateful words as if he could make them disappear. He knew what it meant. Of course he knew, even if he hadn’t been attentive at school, Sergio’s favorite story as a child had been about Soulmates with their Soulmarks in each other's handwriting. 

Stopping in front of the huge window on the other side of the room, he looked at the beautiful skyline of Florence, the Duomo painted in red hues by the setting sun, before glancing at his arm. An almost hysterical laugh burst from his chest and rang in the heavy atmosphere of the hotel room. 

“Tell me what happened, Andrés.” Tatiana’s voice just behind him startled Andrés. He hadn’t heard her. He tore his eyes from the words on his arm and focused on her reflection in the window when she put her hands on his shoulders, massaging the tension away, her thumbs caressing the nape of his neck tenderly. His forehead pressed against the glass as tears burnt in his eyes and, for once, with his back to her, he allowed them to fall, letting himself be weak in front of someone who wasn’t Martín or Sergio. 

Her arms curled around his waist, her head leaning between his shoulder blades, and Andrés felt her love engulf him, the pain in his arm receding even more at the gesture. Loved and cared for, he was finally safe enough to start talking. 

So he talked. He explained what had happened to his mom, to his dad, to him. He explained everything from the beginning, until that moment in the chapel. He explained the debilitating fear paralyzing his body at the sensation of the Mark being branded into his skin and the hope and joy filling his every cell for a second when he realized Martín was the one made for him. At least, until he remembered how everybody in his life had left him. How alone he was, always had been. 

He didn’t remember moving from the window to the bed, but he found himself cradled into Tatiana’s arms, his head resting on her chest, one of her hands in his hair, the other tracing soothing circles on his back. He felt the fatigue of the day catch up with him and let sleep take him knowing he could let his guard down, at last. 

He knew he was safe in Tatiana’s arms. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my wonderful beta Cassy who found time in her crazy schedule to work on my fic. And the biggest thank you to Cassy and Myra who let me use one of their idea in this chapter.

It had taken them two days but they finally reached the old hunting house Sergio had chosen near Toledo. The hotel room service in Florence had been more than happy to provide some clothes and toiletries and with only the bare necessities, they had fled Italy.  _ Fled _ . There was no other way to put it. Andrés was perfectly aware of the coward he had been, not even finding the courage to go back to the monastery and face Martín to get his belongings. 

"Andrés!" Sergio greeted them when they got out of the car. 

He let his brother hug him and watched as he went to kiss Tatiana on the cheek. Andrés was happy to see him. Tatiana’s eyes met his over Sergio's shoulder and they exchanged a tight smile. He had managed to extract a promise from her, that she wouldn't say anything about the Soulmark to Sergio, but the reality of being in front of him made things even more complicated. Sergio was extremely intelligent and hiding something from him felt virtually impossible to Andrés. No, the only thing that could save them would be if Sergio found himself too focused on the heist to realize something was wrong with his brother. 

"Where is Martín?" Sergio asked, looking around for the man. 

Andrés felt cold sweat run down his back at the question. What exactly did Sergio mean by that? 

"You told me…" he began, confused.

"Yes, yes. I know what I told you, but I didn't think you would really leave him behind. How did he take it?" Sergio focused his attention on Andrés and the older man felt his heartbeat rise at the same rate as his anger. If it wasn't for Sergio, nothing would have happened. If it wasn't for Sergio, he would never have had that fateful conversation with Martín and their friendship would not have been ruined. 

And his arm would still be markless. 

"As well as you can imagine," he managed to reply, his tone leaving no doubts about how he felt: he didn't want to talk about it. Thankfully, Sergio understood. 

"Grab your bags, I'll show you to your room and we'll start to review the profiles of our fellow potential comrades. We have work to do and not much time left." Sergio changed the subject, his fingers pushing his glasses up his nose, the only indication he wasn't as at ease with being the reason of Martín’s absence as he wanted them to believe. 

"Are you sure you don't want to call him?" Tatiana murmured when they went to get the bags the hotel had provided them with..

"Yes," he growled between clenched teeth, not meeting her eyes.

He didn't want to talk about it. The fact that Sergio hadn't expected him to leave Martín behind and had actually been willing to have him be part of his heist was hard enough to swallow. He didn't need Tatiana's doubts on top of his. 

He was tired. He had spent the last two days in pain, the burning sensation in his arm getting more insupportable with each kilometer separating him from Martín as he drove, but he had kept going. Tatiana's presence on the passenger seat had been the only thing keeping him sane. She had urged him to stop when he had been too tired to see the road or when his hands were shaking so much he couldn't hold the steering wheel anymore. She was the only reason they had made it to Toledo in one piece and he was grateful. As much as he hated the situation he was in, he wanted to live ; ending up dead in a ditch on the side of a nameless road was not how he envisioned his own death. 

They followed Sergio through the old creaking house and Andrés tried to ignore how much the building reminded him of the monastery back in Italy. Both had the same atmosphere and he was almost expecting Gregorian chants to fill the silence. Of course, he would never hear them again. 

Nor would he see Martín ever again. 

He knew his gloomy thoughts were the Soulmate bond trying to push them together, but he couldn't help the pain that had nothing to do with the burning mark on his arm to spread in his chest at the thought of never seeing his best friend after the disaster of their last goodbye. Still, he had taken his decision and would resist the bond with all the strength he had left. It sang into him, and between the pain and how tired he was, he could barely remember why he was so adamant about not giving in. Luckily, Tatiana's hand squeezing his pulled him away from that dangerous thought. He wasn't in Italy anymore, he had to get used to it. 

When they reached the bedroom, the longing glance he sent to the bed didn't go unnoticed and Tatiana squeezed his hand again. He knew she was as exhausted as he was, not having slept for more than a few hours in two days so he wasn't surprised when she turned to Sergio.

"Would you mind if we took a nap before starting to work?" she asked, her sweet voice on top of her angelic smile— a sure way to fluster his awkward brother and win them a few hours of sleep.

"Of… Of course," Sergio stammered, pushing his glasses up his nose nervously. 

"Thank you? Sergio. You're a dear," she smiled, leaving Andrés' side to kiss Sergio on the cheek and Andrés smirked at the flush his baby brother's beard couldn't hide. "We'll see you in a few hours," she added, the dismissal clear in the way she walked to the door, waiting for Sergio to leave them alone. 

As soon as the door closed behind his brother, Andrés' shoulders caved in, his right hand gripping his left forearm, fingers digging into the muscle viscously like he was trying to tear the Mark from his flesh. Only Tatiana's tender touch stopped him from hurting himself. He saw the worry in her eyes when he looked up at her but she didn't talk and he was glad for her kindness, for he didn't know if he would have the strength to refuse her if she suggested to call Martín again. 

"Come here, dear," she said, her hand slipping into his when she led him to the bed. 

She pushed at his shoulders slightly, prompting him to sit on the side of the bed and started to take his clothes off. The jacket was carefully hung on the back of the chair that was pushed against the small desk near the bedside table. Then she unknotted his tie, sliding it from his neck with a smile he couldn't help but return. With each touch of her hand the pain seared in his body lost ground. There was nothing sexual in the way she touched him, nothing but the love she put in each gesture, palpable and everything the Soulmark was asking for. 

For him to be loved. 

A shiver shook his whole body when she took his shirt off, leaving him bare chested, his eyes closed, basking in the sensation. She ran her fingers through his chest hair and kissed his lips tenderly. Behind his closed eyes, all he could see was Martín's face when he had kissed him. A spike of panic bursted through his body when he opened his eyes and saw her kneeling at his feet, his body rebelling at the fact that it wasn't Martín looking up at him with so much love and tenderness in his eyes. He calmed down when, after having taken his shoes off and put them underneath the chair his clothes were on, she got up and smiled as if she was aware of what was going on in his mind. 

"Sleep now, I'll be right back." She caressed his cheek before walking to the small attached bathroom. 

Andrés watched her leave the room, basking in the first painless moment since the bond with Martín had been forged, wondering how he could have been so lucky as to find someone like Tatiana. Reclining on the bed, he turned on his side, curling his body around his left arm as if to protect the Mark he hated so much and closed his eyes, letting sleep take over his body.

_ London, The Fox and the Hound, August 23rd, 1940 _

_ A small sad smile spread on Andrés' lips when he walked into the bar. Deep inside, he knew it would be the last time he set foot here. The lively music engulfed him and he scanned the room, trying to see past the smoke and the bodies moving on the dance floor to try and find who he had come here for. _

_ His heart skipped a beat when he finally spotted him. Even after all their time together, Andrés was still as excited as when the bond had first been forged whenever he saw him. He was wearing his white suit, making him stand out from the soberly dressed crowd and Andrés couldn't help but smile at the sight. Of course his Soulmate had to choose the most ostentatious attire. He walked to the back of the room, navigating between the small tables scattered haphazardly around the room until he reached the small raised stage. He smiled when he saw Martín behind the piano, his fingers moving on the keys in a mesmerizing dance Andrés couldn't tear his eyes from. He didn't know Martín could actually play. His eyes were closed, fingers flitting on the board, a little smile at the corner of his lips, he was clearly enjoying himself immensely. After a few seconds watching him, Andrés realized suddenly that the man in front of him was not HIS Martín. Clayderman, his mind supplied when the man opened his eyes and sent a toothy grin his way, his eyes shining with mirth when their stares met. Andrés marveled at the uncanny resemblance between this man and Martín, even the small gap between his teeth was the same. He wasn't sure about the mustache, thought, but it strangely fit the man's face. _

_ Memories rushed through his mind and Andrés had to close his eyes under the onslaught of information. His own name was James. They were in 1940, he was captain in the RAF and in two days time, he would take part in the first airborne raid on Berlin.  _

_ And Clayderman was his Soulmate.  _

_ Andrés felt his consciousness slip to the back and James took the lead, turning him into a mere spectator of this life. _

_ A hand on his arm took him out of his thoughts and he turned to see Clayderman standing beside him, smiling tenderly. He could experience the immeasurable love James felt for him, and his own immaterial heart clenched at the thought that he could have had the same with Martín if he hadn't been so stubborn and afraid. He followed the men, like a passenger on the back seat of James' consciousness, to a small room behind the stage. He felt heat spread into James' body as if it was his own when, as soon as the door closed behind them, Clayderman pushed him against the wooden panel and crashed his lips against his. The desire between the two men was palpable in the room, electricity filling the air around them. Clayderman's fingers pulled at the hair at the back of his head, the same way Martín had done when they had kissed, his own fingers running through the slightly longer hair of the other man, turning the perfectly stylized strand into a mess. But they didn't care, they loved each other and that was the only thing that mattered. They broke the kiss, short breaths puffing from their lips the only sound in the room, their forehead pressed together as if they didn't want the moment to end. _

_ "Hey," Clayderman breathed against his lips, stealing a small kiss. _

_ "Hey yourself," James replied, smiling at the silliness of the situation.  _

_ "I thought you couldn't come for a few days," Clayderman remarked, his fingers tracing James' features tenderly, in a mirror of how Martín's fingers had felt against Andrés' own skin. _

_ "I know, but we got our final assignment and they gave us the day off to say goodbye." James disentangled himself from the other man's arms and started pacing the small room. As intertwined as their consciousness were, Andrés couldn't block the fear and agitation James experienced at the thought of leaving his Soulmate. They were at war and every time he had to sit behind the control stick of his plane he knew it could be the last. _

_ "You always come back, my love," Clayderman tried to reassure him, but nothing seemed to calm James down.  _

_ "I have a bad feeling about this one. Churchill decided it was time to bring the war to the Germans. We're bombing Berlin in two days." He lowered his eyes, not able to look his Soulmate in the eye. _

_ Without a word, Clayderman reached for his uniform jacket, undoing the buttons one by one and James' heart skipped a beat before hammering against his ribcage. _

_ "What… What are you doing?" he asked in a shaky voice, not understanding how the other man could take such a risk as to undress him when the mere act of two men kissing in public was frowned upon, even for Soulbound couples.  _

_ "Trust me," Clayderman breathed against his lips, pushing the jacket down his shoulder until it fell on the floor at their feet. _

_ Instead of going for his shirt next, James watched his lover unbutton his left cuff and roll his sleeve up, exposing the words etched into his skin.  _

_ ' _ A man in uniform _ ' was written in cursive on the pale skin of his inner left forearm. he watched as the other man took his own jacket off and rolled his right sleeve up, revealing the words that marked them as Soulbound. ' _ I've always loved _ '. _

_ "See that?" Clayderman said, moving to stand on his left, his forearm against James', the two Marks aligning themselves to form the sentence that changed their lives forever. ' _ I've always loved a man in uniform _ '. "This is the reason you'll come back to me. I don't know why our Mark is so different from everybody else's, but I'm sure it will protect you and bring you back into my arms. I love you James, more than anybody else in the world." He bent his head to kiss the Marks on their arm, one after the other. _

Andrés tried to cling to the moment, but the images started to blur and he woke up in a gasp, his own hand clenched around the Mark on his arm. He jerked from the bed and fumbled with his jacket until he finally managed to close his clammy fingers around his phone. The panic in his chest felt foreign, like an aftertaste of what James had felt in his dream. He had to learn more about these men. He had to know what happened to them. 

"Andrés?" Tatiana's sleepy voice barely registered in his frantic mind.

He was trying to keep the dream at the forefront of his mind, the memories already fading like smoke into the ether, leaving only a shadow of feelings behind. He started to type James' name into his browser until he realized he didn't know the man's surname. He typed in Clayderman instead. He didn't know if it was a first name or surname, but it was atypical enough for him to maybe find something about the man. The first results were about a character in a movie he had never heard of, but his heart skipped a beat when, after adding 1940 to the name in the search bar, he found what he had been looking for.

The obituary for one John Clayderman, pianist at the clandestine bar  _ The Fox and the Hound _ , born in 1916, dead in 1941, London. 

His eyes burned with unshed tears when the picture of a smiling Martín doppelgänger filled the small screen. He was wearing the same white suit he remembered from his dream, the cocky smile James had loved so much when it was on display for everyone to see. Andrés ran his fingers on the screen, a caress to a man he would never meet but had loved with his whole heart for a few minutes in a dream.

At the bottom of the eulogy — as it was usually the case when the deceased had been Soulbound — was a link to the Soulmate's obituary. With shaking hands, Andrés clicked on the link and his own younger face looked up at him. 

His name had been James Bell. The picture seemed to have been taken when he enrolled into the RAF, his crooked smile showing how proud of his uniform he had been.

A first tear fell on the screen, soon followed by others as he read how he had died. James had been right that night. It had been the last time he had come to the bar, the last night the two men had spent together. He had died on the night of August 25th 1940 when his plane had been shot from the sky by the German's anti aircraft guns.

Clayderman had followed him in death less than 6 months later.

"Oh my God," Tatiana breathed, looking over his shoulder. "Who are they?"

"They're us. Or what we could be if…" he shook his head, not wanting to finish the thought. "I dreamt about them. It was the last time I… James saw Clayderman." His voice broke on the man's name, the unfairness of the situation cutting him to the bone.

"Andrés…"

"No," he stopped. He knew what she was going to say, she had been trying to convince him to call Martín for days now. "Look at them, Tatiana," his voice rose. "Look at them!" He left the side of the bed he was sitting on and started to pace the room. "They were happy, they were in love and then James died, and Clayderman couldn't live without him because of that stupid Mark! How is that fair? Why couldn't he have the chance to live a full life, to find somebody else and be happy again? Why did he have to die, alone and unloved? Why?" His voice was full of anger and sorrow for those men he would never meet. "How is that fair?" His phone crashing against the nearest wall burst the bubble of rage he was stuck in and he turned his eyes to his wife. "The Soulmate bond is a curse, Tatiana, not a blessing," he said in a defeated voice, joining her to sit back on the side of the bed, his elbow resting on his thighs, face buried in his hands. 

"Calm down, Andrés," Tatiana breathed, her fingertips brushing the nape of his neck soothingly. "They're not you. This Clayderman is not Martín. Martín is alive, and so are you," she tried to reassure him, slowly understanding why he had reacted so fiercely, even before he understood himself. It was after all easier to lash out in anger than face the debilitating fear he felt at the simple thought of Martín dying.

"But they could be, don't you understand?" He looked up at her, anguish written in every line of his face. "We're about to take part in the heist of the century. What if something goes wrong? What if I die there? How can I do this to Martín?" he asked, pleading her to have the answers he desperately needed. 

"Because you think that leaving him to suffer on his own is better? Look at you Andrés. Look how a simple dream broke you and made you realize how much you love Martín. How do you think he's feeling right now? He's been in love with you for ages and you left him when he was about to have everything he had ever dreamt of. How is that fair?" He knew she wasn't trying to hurt him on purpose, she was just stating facts, but each word felt like a knife to his heart. "Look at me, Andrés," she asked tenderly, her fingers in his hair turning his head until he was looking at her. "Do you really think Martín would let you go into the Mint without him? Do you really think he would let you die and not follow soon after, even without the Soulmark on his arm?"

Andrés was about to reply when a knock on the door froze them both on the spot.

"I heard… Is everything ok?"

At Sergio's voice, Andrés and Tatiana exchanged a worried glance. Andrés was still bare chested, the Mark on his arm on display and, if Sergio decided to open the door, there was no way he would miss it.

"I just dropped my phone," Andrés replied, trying to hide the panic in his voice as he was scrambling to put his shirt back on with Tatiana's help.

"Alright." Sergio didn't sound convinced. "There's coffee in the kitchen, I'll be in the classroom."

They both held their breath until Sergio's footfalls faded, falling back on the bed once the hall was silent again. It had been too close a call, they had to make sure it would not happen again. Andrés buttoned his shirt up, making sure to fasten the cuffs and put his shoes back on before slipping into his jacket to make sure the words on his arm wouldn't be visible through the thin material of his shirt.

"Let's go," he said, waking to the door, his arm extended behind him, waiting to Tatiana to take his waiting hand. The pain in his forearm was bearable at the moment, but he knew it would become more uncomfortable after a few hours.

"Andrés…"

"No. I don't want to talk about it anymore," he retorted, not even turning around to look at her. "Are you coming or not?" He knew he wasn't fair to the woman but he couldn't help it. The dream had unsettled him and his life had been a mess since the moment he decided to follow Sergio's advice and leave Martín. 

A wave of relief washed over the guilt he felt for treating Tatiana so badly after everything she'd done for him when the woman finally linked their fingers together. He turned to look at her, a small apologetic smile on his lips and kissed her cheek tenderly. He didn't deserve her, he knew it, but he couldn't help but be happy to have her at his side.

Hand in hand, they walked to the kitchen to get some coffee before facing Sergio and his too perceptive mind. They were on schedule for the heist and had to choose the members of their little band of robbers and train them to be ready when the girl's school would schedule the field trip they were waiting for.

Andrés couldn’t help but wonder how different the situation would be if, instead of Tatiana, Martín was the one walking beside him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can yell at me on [Tumblr](https://histoireeternelle.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/HistEternelle)


	3. Chapter 3

When morning finally came, Martín had to face realty: Andrés wasn’t coming back. In the opalescence of the first ray of light filtering through the stained glass window, he rose from the couch he had shared so many times with Andrés and had welcomed him as he waited for his Soulmate. He staggered to his room. He hadn’t slept, his eyes glued to the archway Andrés had disappeared through. As the pain in his chest was competing with the burning of the words on his arm, he realized he couldn’t stay between those cold walls any longer. 

The monastery had been the first place they had really shared, the first place that had been theirs, and he couldn’t bear the weight of the memories assailing him at every corner. Andrés’ presence seemed to have permeated the stones themselves. He had to leave. Martín started filling a small bag with his belongings, tears burning behind his eyes, ribs hurting with each sob he repressed.

When the pain became too hard to bear and he couldn’t keep the tears at bay anymore, he sat on the side of the bed and with his head cradled into his hands, he cried. He felt _so_ stupid. 

Of course Andrés had not come back, he had been such an idiot to hope he would. He had known for years how his friend felt about the Soulmate bond — Andrés had been very vocal about it. Why did he think Andrés would change his mind for _him_ ? Why would he erase years of fights against something he despised only because _he_ was his Soulmate? He knew Andrés way too well for that hope to make any kind of sense, but he had been so out of it last night that nothing had made sense anymore. Hoping Andrés would come back had been the only thing preventing him to do something stupid. Something like take the gun he knew was hidden in the desk drawer or follow Andrés to the restaurant to try and make him see how stupid he was for choosing to leave instead of be happy with Martín. None of those options had been viable, so he had waited. And waited. 

The zipping sound of the bag being closed seemed to echo in the room. Despite everything, Martín was reluctant to leave, the possibility that Andrés could be coming back still lingering at the back of his min. Slowly, he walked the dark corridors of the monastery wing they had shared. He _had_ to leave, he knew it, but the distance between his room and the front door seemed to stretch indefinitely, as if the building itself was trying to torture him on purpose. 

When Martín finally reached the patio, his whole body was shaking to the point he didn’t even understand how he could still stand on his feet. His bag slipped from his fingers, landing on the stone floor with a deafening thud. Confronted with the crippling pain growing in his chest with each step he took. He wrapped his arms around his middle, trying to keep himself together. 

That stupid last thread of hope was preventing him to leave. 

What if Andrés decided to finally come back and found the monastery empty with no way to ever find Martín? He had to at least leave a clue behind concerning his whereabouts in case his Soulmate ever came back here. So, he would know where he was. 

His bag forgotten on the floor, Martín turned around and walked back to Andrés’ room. He hesitated a moment in front of the door, one of his shaking hands resting on the handle before finally pushing the door open. Memories of their time together assaulted him: ghosts of Andrés laughing from his easel when Martín moved while he was painting him; his reproachful eyes and soft smile while he shook his head at Martín’s antics; or simply the two of them, lying on the bed, a glass of wine in hand. Talking about anything and everything. They had been happy here, but he pushed them away before they could wreak him, finally entering the room. 

He straightened his spine, determined not to break then and there, and went to the farthest side of the room to the place Andrés had deemed to have the best light to paint, he grabbed one of the sketchbooks orderly stacked on a small desk. Purposely ignoring his own face looking up at him from the pages, he tore the first blank one he found and grabbed a pencil. He would leave a simple note, nothing personal, a single word would be enough.

 _Palermo_.

He knew that if Andrés ever decided to come back here, he would understand. As an afterthought, Martín slid the silver watch from his wrist — one of the first gifts Andrés had given him after they met — and laid it on top of the piece of paper he had left on the bedside table. Now he was ready to leave.

Asking the monks to drive him to the nearest train station had been an ordeal but he had managed to hide his sorrow, answering their questions about where Andrés was, where he was going and when both would be back, in a somewhat normal voice. Through it all, his hands clenched into fists on his thighs to stop the trembling the onslaught of pain provoked. He couldn’t let them suspect what happened, they wouldn’t understand. 

After purchasing a ticket for the first train leaving south, Martín waited as patiently as he could on the platform. His mind was full of _what ifs_ but he couldn’t break right now. He couldn't break in front of so many people, he had to be strong. Strong for himself. Strong for the words on his arms. It would be so easy to throw himself under the incoming train, but, instead, he chose to follow the sea of people getting on the train. Taking his place, his forehead leaning against the cold window, he waited for it to leave the station. Now that he was there, he couldn’t wait to leave. He instinctively looked down at his wrist to check how long he would have to wait until the train departed before remembering he was not wearing his watch anymore, tears filling his eyes again at the sight. He didn’t regret leaving it behind per se, but it hurt to know he wouldn’t have this reminder of Andrés with him anymore. When the train finally started to move, Martín closed his eyes, glad the seat beside him had been left empty. He was so tired and the Mark on his arm seemed to leech at the barely there strength he had left after the events of the previous day. He knew he couldn’t sleep yet. His connection at _Roma Termini_ was only ninety minutes away and he couldn’t afford to miss it. 

When the train finally reached the station, Martín found himself surrounded by a crowd of Roman commuters and he had to push his way through them to reach the platform his train was leaving from. The feeling of so many people pressing and jostling him in every direction reminded him of how much he hated to travel by train. Of course, his mind brought him back to that time Andrés had declared he would die if he didn’t ride the _Orient Express_ at least once in his life. Martín had bought tickets for a Paris-Istambul ride on the _Venice Simplon-Orient-Express_ — the closest experience he could find — the same day. Andrés had kissed him on the cheek when he gave him the tickets and it was still one of the best moments of his life. He smiled bittersweetly at the memory, the words on his arm pulsating in sync with his heartbeat, trying to push him to go back and find Andrés. But Andrés reaction had been clear. He didn’t want anything to do with Martín anymore or he would have come back. Even knowing how Andrés felt about the Soulmate bond, Martín couldn’t help but wonder what he did wrong.

Feeling as if he were a spectator of his own life — living another of those past lives dreams — , he boarded the train, trying to push the sadness clouding his mind away. He was tired of the weight he carried in his chest since that fateful moment less than 24 hours before. He was tired of his heart breaking again and again at the memory of how soft Andrés’ lips had felt against his, how his fingers cradling his cheek had sent his heart in overdrive. With trembling fingers, he pushed his sleeve up, baring the words on his arm for everyone to see. He was so lost in thoughts, his fingertips absentmindedly tracing the words letter by letter that he didn’t realize the train was moving until someone sat heavily on the seat beside him, their shoulder hitting his after having lost their balance at the sudden lurch the train had made.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” the young woman exclaimed. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” he replied, fumbling with his sleeve to hide the Mark but he could see in the way the woman’s eyes followed his movement that it was too late, she had seen them. 

She got to her feet, looking around, probably to find the bearer of the other part of the quote on his arm, and smiled sadly when she realized she was the only one still up. He was glad she didn’t comment on it, he didn’t know if he would have the strength to hold the tears if he had to talk about his Soulmate. But the woman nodded and left without another word, leaving him alone to sink back into the maelstrom of emotion and “what ifs” swirling in his mind. 

  
  


_ Southampton, April 10th, 1912. _

_Martín didn’t know where to look. The crowd was swirling around him, voices rising in every direction, orders being yelled at boys barely out of childhood to come and get some packages waiting for delivery. It was overwhelming. But not as much as the giant liner docked in front of him. He strangely wasn’t surprised when his eyes settled on the actual RMS Titanic being loaded with marchandises, luggages and people in what looked like a perpetual back and forth dance._

_In his hand, a one way ticket in first class for the journey across the Atlantic that would bring him to New York city and to the deal he hoped to close there. He had spent the last months after leaving Argentina traveling through Europe, negotiating exportation prices for the goods that made his fortune back home. Securing a place on the Titanic’s maiden voyage had been complicated, but everything was possible when you had more money than you could spend in a lifetime._

_A sort of rippling sensation went through his body and Martín found himself pushed at the back of someone else’s consciousness. The experience was not one he could call pleasant and he didn’t like the powerlessness he found himself in. The man now in charge was called Santiago Lopez, a 40 years old man and one of the most powerful businessman in Argentina, but here, in Europe, he was no one and Martín could feel how much Santiago resented the situation. Things would have been so different if he had been back home, starting by the fact he would not have had to wait an ungodly amount of time before someone came to take care of his luggages._

_“You there! Take my bags to my cabin” he ordered when a young man wearing the crew uniform walked by him._

_With each syllable leaving his mouth, the pain in his arm increased. He could actually feel each letter being branded into the skin of his right forearm. In front of him, the boy stood frozen, his wide open eyes following the appearance of the words on his bare left forearm as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. Their incredulous stares met and they both felt the link snap in place._

_“I’m… I’m Thomas. Carter. Thomas Carter, I mean,” the boy stuttered, taking a step toward him._

_Santiago couldn’t believe it was happening now and with someone barely old enough to be called a man. But the pull tearing at his heart was unmistakable, he could already feel the Soulmate bond working to push them together and he wasn’t sure he wanted to resist it._

_“And how old are you, Thomas?” he asked, observing the young man take another step closer, obviously not able to fight the attraction._

_“I’m 19, sir.”_

_Santiago was relieved at the news, he wasn’t one of those sick child lovers. Thomas was obviously uncomfortable, it was apparent in the way he kept shifting from one foot to the other and how he was twisting his cap between his fingers. Somehow, Santiago couldn’t help but find him utterly adorable._

_In the back of his mind, Martín was fascinated by what he was seeing through his host’s eyes. It was unbelievable how much the boy resembled Andrés. The same sharp features and piercing eyes were somewhat softened by the roundness of his young age, but it was unmistakably Andrés. A wave of panic went through his immaterial consciousness when he suddenly realized what was about to happen. The two men were about to board the Titanic. Martín thrashed into Santiago’s mind, trying to stop him from getting on board, begging for him to grab Thomas' hand and run as far away from the cursed ship as possible. But he wasn’t really here, he was only a spectator of what was sure to be a heartbreaking tale._

_“And what is your assignment on this marvelous ship, Thomas?”_

_The two men were face to face now, Santiago hand rose in spite of himself and the time conventions and he brushed a lock of hair away from Thomas’ forehead, his heart skipping a beat when the young man closed his eyes and leaned into the touch._

_“I'm a steward on the ship,” Thomas replied, obviously troubled by his own reaction. “What is your name, sir?” he asked, uncertainly searching Santiago’s eyes to make sure he was not too forward._

_“Santiago Lopez,” he replied, looking for the recognition to appear in Thomas' eyes, but nothing changed. He obviously didn’t know who he was. “Now run along, young man, take those bags to my cabin. We’ll see each other later,” he added, a smile full of promise spreading on his lips._

_They exchanged one last longing stare before Thomas grabbed three of the suitcases waiting at Santiago’s feet and walked to the gangplank leading into the bowels of the ship. The young man turned one last time to look at him over his shoulder before disappearing through the hatch._

  
Martín jerked awake when a hand shook his shoulder. He tried to make sense of what he was seeing through the tears filling his eyes, his mind still on that wharf looking up at the most infamous ship in modern history.

“I’m sorry sir, but you were crying in your sleep and I thought…” 

Martín’s vision finally focused on the same young woman as before, now standing awkwardly next to his seat. He hadn’t even realized he had fallen asleep. 

“Thank you,” he replied in a gravelly voice he didn’t recognize, wiping the tears from his face. “I was dreaming about someone…” he began but the pain in his chest became too much, he clenched his jaw and closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath to push the pain away. “Nevermind. Thank you for waking me up,” he tried to smile, but the look on the woman's face made him realize it must have looked more like a grimace than a smile.

“Do you… You want to talk about it?”

Did he? He didn’t know himself. He thought about it for a second: on one hand it could maybe help him go through the pain to unload his sorrow on a stranger; on the other, he wanted to keep it for himself. It felt too personal to share his story with someone else and the physical pain was the only tangible reminder he had left of his Soulmate. 

“No, but thank you.”

The first real smile in what felt like years spread on his lips and the woman returned it before nodding in understanding and walking back to her own seat. 

His mind went back to the events he had witnessed in his dream and Martín’s heart sank. Both men only had four days to get to know each other before one of the most horrific events of the 20th century would take their lives.

He had known the moment Andrés left him that he would have to bear the weight of their past lives together. It was one of the blessings — or curse, he wasn’t sure anymore — of having your Soulmark written in your Soulmate’s handwriting. The dreams came when the Soulmates were apart. The speculations about that particular phenomenon were that the bond between two Soulmates would make everything in its power to pull them together. In their case, the dreams about past lives were the last option the bond had to make it happen.

Knowing the reason behind the dreams didn’t make it less painful though. The unfairness of what happened to Santiago and Thomas forced Martín to ask himself if his time with Andrés would be limited too. If Fate would be as cruel with them as She’s been with Santiago and Thomas. Once he reached Palermo, he would have to check the Soulmate’s database to see if the men’s bond had been officially recorded. Given the small amount of time they had together he doubted it, but it was worth checking anyway. He would also look at the Titanic’s manifest, maybe they had survived and lived a full and happy life together. 

A sardonic laugh rose in his throat at the thought. Of course they didn’t get their happily ever after— if their time together mirrored at least a bit of the drama happening with Andrés, they had sunk with the Titanic, four days after the Soulbond had been forged. 

The rest of the trip to Palermo was thankfully uneventful. Martín felt the eyes of the woman on him a few times, but she didn’t try to talk to him anymore. She smiled at him when they finally reached _Villa San Giovanni_ , jumping into the arms of a man waiting for her on the platform, before the couple disappeared into the crowd. Martín smiled sadly at the sight. He was happy for them but seeing her and who was obviously her Soulmate so happy brought to the forefront of his mind what was missing in his life. 

The pain in his arm rivaled the one in his chest but Martín pushed it away. He would have all the time in the world to look closer at that pain once he’d reach his final destination. Or at least as much time as the Soulmates bond would grant him before killing him. He knew how to prevent being burned up by the unrequited forging of the link but he wasn’t sure he wanted to bother going to such length just to stay alive. Finding a lover, making the man fall in love with him while Martín perfectly knew he wouldn’t be able to return the sentiments didn’t seem fair. Of course it would keep him alive but at what price? It was the only loophole in the Soulmate bond. The Mark only wanted for you to be loved and not necessarily by your Soulmate. 

The horn of the ferryboat, as an echo of the one he had heard in his dream, took him out of his depressing thoughts and he grabbed the small bag resting at his feet to board the ship. He had always loved being at sea, the unending expanse of water surrounding the boat had alway given him a sense of eternity. He’d always felt as if time was suspended when traveling by boat, but today the recollection of what happened to the two men in his dream sent a shiver down his spine and he had to clench his fingers around the railing to keep them from trembling. 

Another thing he could blame Andrés for. If the man hadn’t left him, the dreams wouldn’t have come and he would never have witnessed what happened on that fateful day a century ago. 

After two more trains and a bus, Martín finally reached Palermo’s city center. He had to find a hotel to spend the night before looking for a more permanent setting. His first instinct, as always, was to find the cheapest room. Andrés had found it hilarious every time he would try to book them a room, but Martín grew up in Buenos Aires’ poorest district, and old habits die hard. He could almost hear Andrés’ laugh echoing in his mind, could almost picture the mirth in his eyes and Martín felt strangely comforted by the tenderness he had seen in Andrés’ stare back then. He could almost see him standing beside him, pushing him to choose the hotel they would spend the night at, reminding him that their pockets were full of cash. 

He wanted to choose the shabbiest hotel in sight, just to give the finger to Andres’ delusion of grandeur, but he realized suddenly how his tastes had been modeled by his Soulmate over the years. The truth was he didn’t feel the need to save every euro anymore. His wallet was full of cash and ten diamonds, hidden in a small pouch concealed into the lining of his bag, were waiting to be sold. He knew it wouldn’t be a problem in Palermo to find someone willing to buy them. His connections to the local mafia were good enough to let him trade with them and leave the meeting alive. 

Finally turning to the most luxurious hotel in the vicinity, Martín squared his shoulders and walked in, ignoring the warm feeling spreading in his chest at the idea of how proud Andrés would be of his choice. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://histoireeternelle.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/HistEternelle)


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